Immortal King
by YoungCat
Summary: Jareth finally realizes the price of immortality, and the pains of the mortal world.
1. Chapter 1

_I know what some of you are thinking: "Why the hell are you posting a new story, when all of your other ones are incomplete?!" Well, I wrote this story last year, and __**completely **__forgot about it. I was literally just searching through my documents, and I saw this under an unfamiliar title. _Labyrinth _is my favorite movie, it was actually the first movie my mother got for me when I was a child, and I've honestly been in actual love with Jareth for the longest time. _

_Since this movie is my favorite, I've always been very reluctant to write a fic about it, and kept my fantasies safely locked away in my head. I wrote this chapter when I was on a 12 hour flight, to pass the time, and I don't think it's too bad. This is not a story that will updated right away, or even regularly, so warning you now. It is something I want to take my time with, and put actual effort into, because of how precious _Labyrinth _is to me. _

_Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and perhaps follow it for more in the future. _

He watched her closely for many years. Watched as she aged, as she matured. He saw her bloom from a waif of a girl into a beautiful young woman, grow into the roll of wife and mother, and even as her own daughter was born, he still loved her very much. Yes, Jareth was still smitten with Sarah Williams, well, Sarah Jones now. The once young girl now a lovely mother living a dull, normal life. The Goblin King sneered at the thought of her living such a dreary existence. Sneered at the boring husband she had chosen, the stressful job she had to work.

But nothing could suppress the pain that bloomed in his chest when he realized that she was truly happy. Happy with the stress, the normality of it all. Happy with her average husband, and their average sex life. She was disgustingly happy. So he watched and watched, realizing that as she grew older, he stayed the same. The same brooding man, born to a body that barely ages, born with a mind that will see eons but is the same age as his body; immaturity, selfishness, ill tempered.

Through out the many years Jareth had watched Sarah, he had wondered and wondered what he had done wrong. Perhaps he wasn't forward enough with her? Perhaps she was too young? No, after her rejection Jareth never took into account that his ego was his eventual downfall. And when it seemed to him that he truely loved Sarah at the time, the King was simply lonely, and Sarah had brought a bit of excitement to his world. Jareth's kind had a tendency to let their emotions rule them, and when emotions and magic mix, bad decisions are made.

The mistake started with granting young, spoilt Sarah her wish. Indulging in her fantasies, being the villain to her story. He did everything she asked without realizing that she may have actually been too frightened to realize it. Too young and naive to notice his advances, his feelings towards her. Jareth understood this much, and as he watched Sarah tend to her young daughter, he knew he should have waited a bit more for her. Knew he shouldn't have given her a limit of time, shouldn't have threatened or scared her. Even now when wrinkles lined her gentle face, and her once lithe form long gone, he still thought of her as beautiful.

As time went by however, he found the feelings of not love, but for the longing of friendship. Jareth pinned for the opportunity to talk to her, but she was never alone. He began watching her less and less. From stopping to a few days, then a few weeks, eventually he would stop watching years at a time. One day several years later, as he rested in his chambers, Jareth felt a strong pang of despair ring through his heart. Immediately he summoned a crystal to check on Sarah. He could not recall how many years it had been since he'd seen her, but knew it was not overly long.

Within his magical crystal the familiar innards of her cozy home were shown to him. A cold chill shot through him when he realized the home was empty. Flowers lined the entire kitchen, black cloth hung over the furniture, and on the large sofa sat a lone figure. In a moment of excitement, Jareth thought that it was Sarah in her youth, though realized that such a thing was not possible. No, on the couch dressed in a black shirt and jeans, hands clinging to a silver urn, was Sarah's daughter, Violet. He was gone much longer than he had thought. The last he saw her she had barely learned to walk, but here she was, a few years older than her own mother was when she came to his labyrinth. Tears stained her lovely face, bright hazel eyes rimmed red, and she was deathly pale.

Jareth noticed she was trembling, and in anger he wondered where her parents could possibly be. How could they let their beautiful child suffer alone like this?! A choked sob brought the King out of his anger, and watched as she gently placed the urn on the wooden coffee table next to another identical pot. Watched still as she slid her palms over the tops of her thighs, and shook with sobs. Letting her face fall forward, Jareth could no longer see her expression as her thick, dark hair so much like her mothers fell over her shoulders to shroud her face.

"M-mom," she gasped as she tried to breathe, and Jareth felt the same pang that lead him to check on Sarah. "Dad," she groaned in pain. "W-hy are you g-gone?" She pulled her knees up to her chest, and began wailing, "Why did you leave m-me!?" The crystal fell from Jareth's gloved palm, shattered into nothing before it hit the ground, and erasing the sorrowful sight he had just been watching. His hand came up to clench at his chest, and he nearly lost balance as he stumbled to sit.

"It cannot be," it was a whisper, but it shook his whole being to say it. "Sh-she cannot be gone." The once proud king could not bring himself to say the word. His mind refused to believe what he had just seen.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N The death of our sweet David Bowie has broken my heart. I dedicate this story to his memory, and I will miss him very much._

Violet had a wonderful life. She did well in school, her friends were lovely people, her teachers adored her, and her parents...

Her parents...

Violet had a wonderful life, and now it was shattered around her. Her heart and soul broken apart by a speeding youth in a new car. Her mother had always told her to keep her chin up in dark times, but poor violet could not seem to peel her tired eyes from the ground. Many young adults her age would probably shy away from declaring how much they loved their parents, but her parents had truly been her world. Violet grew up surrounded by love, wonderment, and warmth. Now, she was cold, she was empty, she cried until she felt as though all the water had left her body.

It had been eight days since her parents tragic accident, shortly after her nineteenth birthday. Eight days that seemed to blur into one bleak dream, and poor Violet didn't even have the strength to feed herself. Many of her friends were still at University, sending their well-wishes, but otherwise too preoccupied to deal with her emotions. Her grandparents were overseas, unable to attend the funeral due to health related issues, but sent their love and grieved privately. Her mothers mother off somewhere in Europe, no one able to contact her about her only daughters death. She briefly thought of her kind, but busy uncle, red-eyed and heartbroken. He hugged her tightly during the wake, but was gone the same day on a flight back to his wife and newborn twins. Lovely Violet was nineteen, old enough to care for herself, right? Well, that's what everyone else seemed to think.

Eight days she sat on the couch in her parents home, the home she grew up in, and with no one to look after her, she sank into a deep depression. She could barely force herself to blink, let alone sleep, eat, or drink. Although, if she had been more aware, she may have noticed the sandwich and glass of water that regularly appeared in front of her on the coffee table. Perhaps had she not been so deep in her own despair, she would have realized that the house was kept warm, well lit, and she wore clean clothes each morning. During those eight days she did manage a few hours of fitful sleeps in bouts of 10-15 minute naps, and during the bleary moments of awakening, she swore that she didn't place her mothers throw blanket on herself. Of course, she soon forgot about it when she was fully awake, too caught up in her pain to focus on the strange detail.

Violet felt like she was dying. And who knew, perhaps she was? _Can people die of heartache? _She questioned apathetically, allowing herself to raise her eyes from the floor, to the urns of her parents. Face crumbling at the sight, she let her gaze fall back to the rug. A peculiar sight met her eyes: she was wearing socks. Violet blinked a few times, does she own these socks? Lifting her left foot onto the table, she studied the foreign sock, the first thing she focused on other than her parents urns, the floor, and her deepening sadness. Pulling the white sock off, she ran a delicate finger over the printed white owls that flew over the knitted fabric.

"Odd," she croaked, voice harsh from days of disuse. Blinking again at the sound of her own voice, she picked of the freshly filled glass of water, and took a gulp.


	3. Chapter 3

Jareth was one to admit openly that he was a selfish being. He was not ashamed of this usually unfavorable trait, but at times it did hinder his ability to see past his own nose. While he was a good king to his people, more often than not he had unintentionally overlooked the fact that his subjects were not as comfortable as the could be. But when Jareth _did _realize that his responsibilities took a backseat to his wants, the goblin king did his best to remedy the problem. At the news of Sarah's death, in his own selfish grief, Jareth was completely willing to fall into a cycle of loathing, kingdom be damned. But at the moment he fled from his bedchambers to escape into the dark night, a slight pull at his heart stopped him in his tracks.

The girl, young Violet, her face suddenly bright, and vivid in his mind. The fresh wash of tears and despair on her face caused him to cringe at his own actions. She was alone, so very alone after a life of warmth and safety. Blinking the memory of her pain filled eyes out from his vision, Jareth realized he was in his throne room. Wearily, he sat on curved structure, summoning a crystal. There she was, sitting in the same place, darkness made its way through the empty home, yet she did not seem to notice. _Will she simply sit there and rot? _Suddenly irritated at her behavior, the impulsive king "popped" the crystal, and stood before he realized what he was doing. Taking a steadying breath, he made his way to the hall with a click of his boots, and as he passed through the doorway, found himself in the dim home of his former love. _Much _less flare than when he first showed himself to Sarah, but he did not think Violet could take a flashy entrance.

The hall was dark, though he could make out the warm color of the walls, hardwood floors, and the sitting room ahead. With light steps, Jareth entered the room, bracing himself for a girlish shriek at his sudden appearance, and frowning when not even the slightest sound came. Snapping his gloved fingers, the room was flooded with cozy, dim light, and there she was, still on that _damned _couch. She was curled into herself, looking as if she would fall over in an instant, and seemed to not allow herself the slightest comfort even at rest. He stepped closer to her, taking in her disheveled appearance, and scrunching his face in distaste at what he saw. With a quick wave of his had-and, yes, he turned his head away- a long, clean night dress appeared on her frame, as well as thick socks on her naked feet.

Not stopping to glance at the urns, Jareth let himself explore the home while she slept. Entering the kitchen he saw many containers of food, vases filled with already wilting flowers, and other items indicating that the funeral was not too long ago. Opening the fridge, and seeing it was empty, he made quick work of setting all the food in place-not before placing what he assumed to be a beef sandwich on a plate-, throwing away the ugly plants, and tossing well wishing cards and letters into the large, silver bin. Pouring cold water into a large glass, he returned to the sitting room and placed them in front of her still sleeping form. A small whimper caught his attention, causing his mismatched eyes to snap to her face, and a heavy frown marred his handsome features when he saw the thin sheen of sweat on her skin.

Removing his glove, Jareth gently placed his palm across her heated brow, allowing a bit of his magic to flow across her skin like a soft breeze. She calmed down at his touch, and her tense body finally seemed to relax into the cushions of the sofa. The usually selfish king paused, pulled a colorful throw from the arm of the couch, and tenderly tucked it around the sleeping girl. The sweat from her fit caused the baby hair of her sideburns to curl, and with his still gloved fingers, pushed the stubborn lock behind her small ear. Standing to attention when he realized how and grimacing when he realized how _soft _he was being, Jareth turned sharply, intent on going back to his kingdom. Pulling his glove back on rougher than necessary, he marched his way up the hall. However, he paused when he saw the door he had entered from his kingdom. It was a bedroom, and from what he could see, it was not Violets. Clenching his fists to ignore the sudden pain blooming fresh at his heart, Jareth clenched his eyes shut and stepped forward. When he opened his eyes, his was back in his throne room.


	4. Chapter 4

Violet downed the rest of the water after realizing just how thirsty she was, then turned her attention back to the sock; she had been idly pinching at the thick, knitted wool-or she guessed it was wool- while she drank. With the discovery of these socks, the girl could feel the fog of her sadness lifting at the realization that these in fact, did not belong to her. _Ah, a mystery, _she mused mentally, lifting her leg to pull the sock back onto her small foot, and wiggling her toes in the air. Allowing her now wool-clad footsie to rest on the plush rug, Violet also noticed that she was wearing a night gown she had not noticed. It was a delicate lilac color, with heavy, deep violet colored floral embroidery around the hem, sleeves, and neckline. The material was very soft, and it seemed extremely well made, but yet again, it was not hers. Gathering the hem in her hands, and pulling the fabric to her face, she took a deep breath and realized it was clean.

Thick brows frowned in confusion, and she cast a weary glance around the room to make sure she was alone. _Has someone been checking up on me? _Suddenly worried that a stranger was in her home-though, they may be kind, it still unnerved her-, Violet jumped up from the couch, however immediately buckled at the sudden movement. Her very quick bathroom breaks did not make up for the time she spent still on the sofa, and she grunted as her bum met the ground. "Ouch", grumbling as she rubbed her backside, Violet tried once again to stand, this time using the sturdy coffee table as a crutch. "Alright," mumbling as her leg finally stopped threatening to shake, she cleared her throat and did something she knew was a mistake. She called out loudly, "Hello? Is anyone there?" Silence answered her, but even if there were someone there, she doubted that they'd just answer her immediately.

Taking another glance around the cozy living room, she spotted her mothers large, colorful umbrella resting where she last left it by her fathers leather recliner. Ignoring the painful stitch in her chest, she quietly made her way to it, picked it up, and tested its weight. _I'd rather have a baseball bat, but this will have to do, _she thought a bit morbidly, and turned to explore her parents-correction, her- house. While she took the near silent, slow steps towards the kitchen, her mind was mildly distracted by the thought of someone changing her clothing; she guessed her underwear was clean, or at least they _felt_ clean. A shudder ran through her when she realized just how dangerous it was to have been in such a state as she was. Anything could have happened to her: the home could have been robbed, she could have been killed, so many scenarios ran through her mind. For the first time since she had spotted those out of place socks, Violet felt fear. Fear that some strange person waltzed into her home, changed her, and left her water and food like some sort of pet. Fear that they may still be lurking.

How long had she been sitting there, she wondered. It had to at least be a week, and did that mean for a week someone fed, changed, and watched over her while she was unaware? Faltering in her steps at that thought, Violet began to feel a bit silly. No stranger would sit around caring for a depressed young woman for kicks. They had to be someone she knew, or at least someone her parents had known. Mentally going through the long list of good friends her kind, loving parents had, she could only come up with one possible person: Mrs. Bale, the elderly woman who lived a few doors down. That made perfect sense, she thought, relaxing her defensive stance, and lowering the umbrella with a shake of her head. Mrs. Bale had helped her mother care for her before when she went back to a normal work schedule, why wouldn't she come to her rescue now? Perhaps the nightgown-old fashion as it was- belonged to her, even the owl socks. Mrs. Bale was also incredibly shy and quiet, being a widow for many years she chose to avoid people, so that would also explain why she had been tiptoeing around the sad girl instead of trying to rouse her.

She had dealt with death before, she was understanding, and Violet refused to think that it couldn't be her. At that moment she heard the clanking of dishware coming from the kitchen, and a warm smile touched her face for the first time since her parents death. Pushing the door in, Violet beamed a smile at the old woman, "Mrs. Bale, thank you so mu..." She froze, wide eyed in shock, mouth agape as she did not finish her sentence. The person she stared out shared a similar startled expression, as if he were shocked that the owner of the house just sauntered into the kitchen. Leather, pirate shirt, gloves, _tight _pants, and his eyebrows were burned into her brain. She would have been laughing if she weren't so terribly afraid, he looked like he stepped out of an old glam rock music video. Someone was shrieking, who was that? Oh wait, it was her. Dishes that had been floating midair suddenly crashed to the ground, and the shattering chaos woke Violet from her shock. Ear piercing shriek went up another octave, and her grip the umbrella turned knuckle white.

A rush of anger hit her when she realized this strange _man _had changed her clothes, he changed her _underwear;_ humiliated heat flooded her cheeks in a scarlet blush. Raising the umbrella over her head, she let out an enraged cry and charged towards the man, hellbent on protecting her parents home. The man seemed to jump back into reality when she swung down the colorful weapon, as he dropped elegantly, easily avoiding her attack. Instead, she gave the fridge a decent "THWACK!", but continued her assault. Violet wasn't the most athletic girl, she grew to favor books over sport, but she was showing a surprising amount of strength and stamina as she chased the unknown fiend out of the kitchen, all while somehow avoiding the glass below.

* * *

_A/N, well here's another chapter. I can really feel Violet building before my eyes, and I actually might draw some art of her. Let me know if you'd like to see something like that! _


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